Ghosts of the Past
by PianoGirl1932
Summary: What if there was more to the events in the past than meets the eye? What if the dead weren't as lost as we thought? What if a routine mission ends up reuniting a family? What would a father think of the sacrifice his child was willing to make for his revenge?


_A/N: Dearest readers! _  
_First of all: Welcome to my profile to all of you._  
_This is the first story I publish on but it is by no means the first one I write so I won't apologize beforehand for any mistakes or anything. My story is unbetaed but I'm rather picky with the stuff post on websites so I read through it multiple times and personally I think I didn't really mess up anything. If you per any chance find something anyways feel free to leave some consrtuctie criticism... flames will be used to make me some s'mores ;)_  
_In advance I'd like to say that this story will contain some violence as well as minimum amounts of gore so it will be rated M but I try not to overuse it. If the situation calls for it the characters will act brutal and cruel though and of course that means there will be killing and torture... it is Kuroshitsuji after all. _  
_Well after all this is said I can only wish you much fun with my fanfiction and I hope you'll like it._

Disclaimer: I neither own Kuroshitsuji nor any of the characters except from any occuring OCs.

** Ghosts of the Past**

**Chapter 1: Father**

Darkness. The man had been enclosed in deep, endless darkness for what seemed like an eternity. The only thing that had disrupted the oppressing blackness that surrounded him had been the torture he'd had to endure every once in a while.

His sense of time was nonexistent at this point in time since he had not been able to see the difference between night and day for weeks, months even, though it could have been years now.

The only thing that kept him alive was the memories. The thoughts of a life before this hell he lived through at this moment a life filled with darkness and evil but lit by the blinding light that was his beloved wife and child.

He did not know what had happened to them but as long as he lived he'd hope that they were out there living their lives as happily as possible without him there to provide them with his love and fortune.

He brightened the blackness around him with fantasies. He dreamt about his life the way it could be if he were with them.

How he would hold his wife sitting by the fire on a cold December evening, his beloved Rachel's blonde locks covered by a luminescent reddish sheen in the warm flickering light, her eyes flittering between the dancing flames that had always caught her attention and his own dark brown orbs that she looked into with an incredible amount of adoration.

How his little Ciel would barrel into him when he was excited about his father coming home from a case, demanding adventurous stories and explanations about the every single thing he deemed interesting while exploring his little world that day.

How his baby boy would run around the gardens followed by Sebastian their wonderful little rascal of a dog.

How he hoped he'd see them again but with every hour, every day this hope lessened even though he'd never let it diminish all the way.

He would get out and when the time came he'd end everyone involved in his predicament.

He would not only kill them he planned to destroy them. Make them feel everything he had and pay them back thrice. He would return to his family even if it was his last deed.

He held onto that hope as tightly as his weakened body and soul could. After all it was the last thing that was left to him.

The raven haired man heard heavy steps closing in on the room he was held him and a mighty shudder overcame him running down his spine with bone rattling strength.

He knew he should not show such weakness but he feared what would come now. He knew those steps too well and they always came with pain beyond imagination.

Vincent Phantomhive took a deep breath trying to get his hammering heartbeat under control as a small strip of light, blinding even though it was way too dim to be called anything close to bright due to his eyes being used to the his pitch black surroundings.

A shadowy silhouette made its way through the door holding a torch in its meaty hand. A mask made out of some kind of stiff white fabric decorated with intricate blood red stitches around eyes and mouth covered the man's upper face leaving his chin and lips which were curved with a menacing grin free.

"Oh, my great Lord Phantomhive. It's been way to long since I last had the honours wasn't it? I was overjoyed when I drew your name this time. After all it is always such fun to torment you. It's a real treat to hear your wonderful screams…" the man trailed off lifting his right hand that clutched a thick woven leather whip.

He made a grand gesture and brought his arm down the whip biting harshly into Vincent's pale flesh. He grunted trying to keep the agonized sound as quiet as possible. He always tried to deny them that enjoyment hard as it may be since the torture worsened every single time.

He felt the cool leather cord lash out and cut into his skin all over. The bulky man was never standing still as it seemed trying to cover his victim's whole body in bleeding welts and lacerations.

With every single hit the pain gained more of its terrible scalding quality and after a while Vincent started to taste blood after he had bitten through the brittle skin of his lips. Silent tears gathered in the corner of his eyes but his pride did not allow him to let them fall. The bastard would have to get a lot more brutal for that to happen.

Vincent cursed himself for his thoughts. He was sure he had just jinxed himself and he seemed to be right as another man, this one tall lanky and thin to the extreme with shaggy dirty blonde hair, entered the room.

A sinister smile twisted his lips and slowly he lifted his right hand. "Looky looky, I brought us somethin' new to play with, my friend. Whaddya think, watchdog? Yer always loved playing with fire, didn't ya?"

A cruel laugh cut through the darkness and the thin face of the blonde was strangely illuminated by the thick metal pole that gleamed a dangerous red. Vincent's eyes widened drastically.

The lanky man stalked around him a couple times scrutinizing the tall Lord's body trying to find a place he deemed perfect for a branding. Just as he was behind the raven haired man again a blinding pain shot through the bound man's ribcage.

The smell of scorching skin and flesh was biting in his nose and a scream tore from his lungs. The lanky blonde cackled as he held the burning hot pole against Phantomhive's skin until the man slumped forward all fight leaving him for a few moments as he tried to get some air into his lungs which did not seem to want to stop contracting in pain along with his ribcage.

When the burning iron was lifted from his skin again the man could do nothing but pant, his bound hands in front of him trying to hold up his body which had collapsed as soon as he was free to move again. Another scream tore through his body when the iron met his skin again this time just above the waistline of his shredded pants.

His body convulsed spastically and he could not control his vocal chords anymore as scream after scream tore through them leaving them raw and scratchy to a point where he could not do anything more than whimper pathetically.

The lanky man did not seem to want to stop anytime soon and after a few brandings his friend seemed to get tired of just standing around. He started lashing out again this time hitting Vincent with a riding crop that seemed to be modified to a torture device since the tip was made from spiked iron that bit deeply into his skin.

His cries had gone silent due to the overexertion of his voice chords which by now refused to produce any more noise. The nobleman felt his consciousness slipping from his grasp with every passing second and as much as he feared that he probably would not wake again he welcomed the feeling of warming dull silence and blackness that enclosed him and would take the pain from him for a while.

Neither willing nor able to fight anymore Vincent Phantomhive greeted the unconsciousness with arms wide opened.


End file.
